


Sunbird

by 6lilystrings9



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: A very different take on the Summoner, Canon-Typical Violence, Exasperated Alfonse, F/M, Feedback appreciated, Minimalist Tagging, Slow Burn, Stubborn Summoner, The mysteries are half the fun, first time writing an oc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23310808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6lilystrings9/pseuds/6lilystrings9
Summary: Alfonse tries not to get too close, and the Summoner tries harder.((Not beta'd. Some changes/corrections might be made as the story develops.))
Relationships: Alfonse/Summoner | Eclat | Kiran
Comments: 13
Kudos: 76





	1. Her Name

The first thing she felt was pain, everywhere, a familiar sting. She could smell the difference in the air even before she opened her eyes. The musty, acrid odor of the sewer niche she’d burrowed into to hide from the sub-zero winter temperatures was replaced by floral sweetness and the fresh, crisp air after rain. In the middle of that, the concentrated aroma of cinnamon and ozone.

She opened her eyes and nearly screamed at the sight of the bright, open meadow. Thank god she arrived face down on the ground, _thank god._ “Oooh! You’re here? Then the ritual actually worked?”

If she arrived on her back, her face would’ve been exposed, even with her hood pulled up.

“Hold on. Are you really our great hero? You don’t look like a thee-and-thou type.” Only now, standing on her feet and looking towards the source of the voice, ignoring the sting in her eyes, did she notice the red-head dressed in ornate white and gold armor, battleaxe attached to her hip.

Of course she had questions, such as who are you, where am I, what is this language, and how do I understand it? Despite hearing foreign words that should’ve been unintelligible, her brain was able to parse out their meaning even while she knew she shouldn’t be able to. If it weren't for the pain in her flesh reassuring her this was very real, she might've assumed this was a dream and tried running into the light.

Out of habit, she was hesitant to say anything. She’d already been inexplicably blessed to awaken with her face hidden, the last thing she wanted to do was ruin the gift of anonymity. Now without knowing if she was safe or not.

“Perhaps you’re confused? Here, this is the situation...”

She listened to her story as she was handed a mysterious pistol-looking relic. Equally mysterious was the holster attached to her belt, below the upper white cloak, just the perfect size to fit the Breidablik in. As if it were specifically made to hold that particular object. Not that she would know for sure, because these clothes weren’t hers. She arrived in them. A white cloak, hood drawn up, casting her face in inky shadow, high-collared tunic, gloves, knee-high boots, and long pants tucked in.

At least whatever mysterious force pulled her to this side had the consideration to dress her in clothes that wouldn’t get her killed on the spot. It was even nice enough to make them sufficiently thick and bulky to keep her warm.

“So, what’s your name, hero?” Anna, the redhead’s name was, asked.

She doesn’t want to give her name.

If she were to rename herself, she would pick something like Kanna, Kiara, or Kiran, but she still wouldn’t even want to give them a fake. Because even if she could pretend “Kiran” isn’t the same person as herself, that wouldn’t change the reality. Kiran or not, nothing would be truly different. Her new identity would be in name only, not nature. Deluding herself otherwise would be dangerous.

“Er… your name please?”

In a way, she’d already been nameless for years, for the lack of anyone to call her. She won’t give them a name. She doesn’t _need_ one. “Summoner” will do, because that’s all they need from her, and she would be content with that.

As she turns her head away in a clear dismissal of the question, she decides that she’ll slip through their fingers like water, to ensure they’ll never find themselves with poison in their hands.

Anna didn’t look like she was prepared to give up, but then enemies arrived. A white flash erupted from the holy relic, leaving a long-haired archer calling himself Takumi. There was work to be done.

The summoner was glad for her hood, so that no one could see her face while she watched the bloodshed ensue. When the battle finished, she could only tear her eyes away from it because of Anna’s voice calling for her to hurry along. Takumi had already vanished back into the relic.

She jogged behind her commander and resisted a hoarse groan that threatened to bubble up her throat. Her skin prickled like pins and needles fresh from a smoldering forge, wheedling at her nerves, scorching and stabbing at once with every step. Her burning flesh felt so tight and rigid, like any sudden movement could tear it open like a shriveled, ill-fitting paper wrap. Not enough layers, not nearly enough layers.

They finally, blessedly, came to a halt when Anna spotted a boy with a sword in hand. The summoner smelled him before she saw him, having caught the masculine combination scent of campfire and one more element she couldn’t identify, robust and faintly spicy. The bold aroma had an edge of sweetness to it that softened the impact on her nose. By appearance, he looked younger than the commander and a little older than the summoner. She could pay no more mind than that, preoccupied with recentering her mind over her aching body and readjusting her hood and robe with a paranoid need for reassurance for layers to protect her from the world.

For a while, their conversation passed around her ears with a garbled, underwater quality while she rubbed her arms against the crisp early spring air. The other two seemed fine, however. Her body temperature ran a little higher than theirs, so she felt cold more easily.

“Could this be…?” She heard the boy directly address her with the question in his tone, voice low and retaining the soft quality of youth. It was pleasant to her ears, and she wondered if it would be lower in a couple years.

“Yep, our summoner arrived and was even able to use the Breidablik within minutes of getting it!”

“Unbelievable. So you’re our Great Hero, come from another world to aid us. I am Alfonse. Prince of Askr and lieutenant of the Order of Heroes. A pleasure to meet you.” He introduced himself, straight-backed and bold, looking into the darkness of her hood as surely as he would her eyes. She was grateful to be so short. The both of them stood a head taller than her, so they might see glimpses of her chin or jaw, but so long as she didn’t tilt her head up to look them directly in the eye, they’d never fully see her face.

She took the time to inspect the boy more fully, soaking up his image in greater detail. His hair was interesting. She’d been under the impression that this was a kind of medieval fantasy world, yet those golden colored tips would usually indicate hair dye of some kind. His hair, his eyes, his poise, his scent, and his voice. Those five things stood out to her as starkly as the blood they spilled not too long ago. Actually, those were a lot of things. His overall first impression was of greater impact than Anna’s, easygoing as her attitude was. It’s hard to explain, but before now, she only had a vague, non-specific impression of what “royalty” is. She would’ve just pictured a man in funny puffy pants and a crown.

Looking at Alfonse now, she thought to herself, oh, so that’s royalty.

The sun shone on him, lighting his white and gold uniform aglow. Strong and bright, as if he were made of sunlight.

She bit her tongue, tasting the blood. 

Her silent stare had stretched for too long. He’d been waiting for an introduction that was never going to come. “May I have the honor of your name, Great Hero?” He finally asked, gently prompting despite his expression growing somewhat dubious.

Anna clasped his shoulder and shook her head. “Forget it, Alfonse. I haven’t been able to get a word out of him- er, her… since he-she got here. Speaking of, are you a man? Are you a woman?” She asked with the resignation of a woman that already knew the answer she was going to get: more silence.

Besides, the summoner is as much a “man” or “woman” as a bear or wolf can be considered a man or woman. “Female” would probably be a less misleading descriptor.

“...You’re not even gonna give me that much?”

She would take any layer she could find to wrap herself in. Whether it be a cloak of misinformation and silence, or the layers of fabric she plans to add to her outfit the second she has the time and the materials. This getup will need some alterations to better serve her needs.

Alfonse furrowed his brow, frown marring his features. “You will stay silent? Or perhaps you can’t speak at all?”

Their commander huffed, “Even if that’s true, there’s no reason she can’t at least nod to simple questions. This is gonna be frustrating. I hope you’ll at least follow orders.” It was sensible for Anna to assume that she was female, considering her petite size.

If nothing else, she would reassure them of one thing: she will be their summoner. She has no intention of questioning the Order of Heroes. So she nods and Alfonse’s eyebrows nearly touch his hairline, while Anna’s jaw drops open. With this, perhaps they’ll be able to figure out for themselves that she’ll only be “The Summoner” to them. No questions about her would have an answer, but any questions pertaining to her duties were welcome.

The prince shakes his head, wearing a complicated, narrow-eyed look. “Let’s table this for later. We have pressing matters, currently. I’m sorry to ask this of you, Summoner, but I have a request...”

She had already gotten the gist of the situation through Anna. They need her, the only person who can use this holy relic, to summon heroes for them to bolster their army. What she didn’t know, and what she found she honestly didn’t care to know, was why. For what reason did their order exist? What did they need an army for? Why did conflict embroil across this country?

She didn’t care. Not as much as she probably should’ve. They weren’t evil, and that’s all she needed to know. For the first time in years, people wanted her around, even if it was only to serve their ends. She wondered if that would change if they knew their Summoner was closer to the dragon than the hero they hoped for. But Alfonse’s voice was nice, so she listened to him tell her these things anyways.

Footsteps, heavy and armored, crunched leaves and twigs below their feet as shrubs rustled around every step. “...I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before. He wears a mask and keeps his face a secret even from them.” As she tuned into the sounds in the distance, she pretended not to notice the quick glances sent her way from the two humans that noticed a parallel between the masked Emblian sorcerer and herself. Instead, the silent summoner reached for Alfonse’s sleeve and tugged, pointing in the direction of the noise with her free hand.

In their dull senses, there didn’t seem to be anything there. They didn’t hear the sounds of soldiers grunting or smell the scents of sweat and blood. “Er- Summoner? What’s the…” The summoner shook her head, and kept pointing. Perhaps their instincts kicked in, or perhaps they were simply interested in the first assertive gesture she’d made yet, but regardless, they waited a little more.

One pair of metal boots emerged from the leaves, then more followed. A small scouting party, presumably enemies, from the way Anna and Alfonse sucked in their breaths. “I don’t know how you sensed them, Summoner. They’ve spotted us; it’s time for battle.”

Alfonse and Anna readied their weapons in guard positions while the enemies approached. The Order members were outnumbered. She knew her role. In a flash of light, Takumi emerged once more, readying his bow behind the two warriors without question. Whether it was his own powers of deduction or some feature of the Breidablik, he understood battle was assuredly at hand, who her allies were, and who her enemies were at a glance.

The terrain was flat and the enemy forces were simple and straightforward infantry soldiers. She didn’t know how she knew this, but she was sure the warriors would not need her assistance. She tightened her hand on the holy relic and felt it hum in her palm. Perhaps this was one of its powers? Or perhaps it was amplifying her own?

The dust settled, but she didn’t recall Takumi. From the backlines, she noticed the masked man emerge from the forest before her allies. She tuned out the ensuing verbal confrontation in favor of analyzing the man as best as she could. A mage, her mind somehow supplied her, being able to recognize the book he held as a magical tome. She could also smell some kind of magic emanating from his half-mask. 

Even if her power allowed her to sense magic in this world, there was no reason she should be able to  _ recognize _ the strange energy as magical. It must be the Breidablik. It imbued her with an intrinsic knowledge of these things, including this mysterious language, now that she thought about it. Probably for the hero from another world to better serve her role.

Oh, the man left, and Anna was addressing her now. “Summoner,” she started while said summoner recalled Takumi. She thinks to herself that she should look into where he goes when he vanishes into the relic, while her commander proceeds to explain the conflict between the Askrans and Emblians, and the deadlock caused by their respective powers.

So does that mean, to summon her, the Askrans opened a gateway to her world to do it? If so, the Emblians could go there. She wasn’t sure though, since she didn’t know how the ritual to summon her actually worked. Even if her world was exposed... well, the sheer lack of concern on her part would probably be unsettling to the humans beside her. A very small but very savage part of her wouldn’t mind if the empire razed her world to the ground, only to be quashed under the weight of her own guilt. She simultaneously wondered who would win and felt ashamed for those callous thoughts.

And then they were off. Thus began the summoner’s impromptu excursion to another world to take part in another battle, thrown headfirst into the fray. They met Sharena, younger sister to the prince. The summoner could tell without being told; the sweetness edging out Alfonse’s scent was full-blown on her, citrusy like apples, with an added hint of vanilla. 

The princess was an interesting contrast from her brother. Despite also being royalty, her bearing was completely different, feeling even less… well,  _ royal _ than Anna’s, let alone Alfonse. Where the commander and the prince would shoot her disapproving looks, Sharena was weirdly enthusiastic and undetterred by her unresponsiveness to almost any question or attempt at conversation. More than once she had to bite her lip and step away from the girl’s friendly crowding, before the worst happened.

Sharena… Sharena would be the one to watch.

Alfonse and Anna hadn’t needed her at all for the previous battles, considering their enemies had been nothing more than small, disorganized scouting groups, but here, things were different. Across the field in the World of Awakening were other heroes- men and women trained and experienced in fighting and leading. It showed.

She could see three fuzzy, indiscernible shapes floating in the air, eyes stinging from the garish daylight. Somehow, she knew they were three people perched high in the air on winged, flying horses- pegasi, her mind supplied. If it weren’t for her somewhat lackluster eyesight, she wouldn’t need the Breidablik to tell her that, considering the creatures at least existed in her world’s fairy tales. 

But there was another. There was no mistaking the scent of magic, sharp and ozone-like. She shut her eyes and focused her nose.

Behind the crumbling walls of a long-collapsed structure, now unidentifiable, there was a single Emblian mage. She was in the perfect place to lob fireballs over walls at her unsuspecting employers. 

She figured this moment would inevitably come and sighed through her nose. But if this was required to do her job, she would do it. She kept her eyes shut and concentrated. It was harder to do this with her eyes open because she wasn’t well practiced in it. Breathe in, breathe out.

It was going to be tiring to do this right now. She would have to make sure to sneak some scraps to eat when the battle finished.

She reached out for the energy she wanted, calm and steadfast as its owner, brushing against it and nearly shivering at the comfort for her ever-burning flesh. It was a testament to his nature that coming close to it brought her such relief. The sweet-spicy scent of campfire filled her nose like Alfonse was right beside her, not across a field and quickly approaching a mage hidden behind a wall, who was readying a fireball for his head.

_ The scent of ozone, the face of a young mage, the tome clutched in her hands, fire raining down over stone walls, you look up and it’s above your head, falling, falling, falling- _

The energy around her, once cool, calm, and comforting as a quiet lake by the campfire, convulsed. It rippled furiously, snapping out and setting her flesh ablaze once again, ferociously pummeling it in fists of flame. She was shoved out of Alfonse’s mind hard enough to snap her eyes open like she’d been slapped. 

Alfonse had stopped in his tracks at the point of the charge, drawing the attention of his allies on the front line.

He got the message. Hopefully he’ll listen. She wouldn’t be able to reconnect with him while he was on edge like that; his defensive instincts would hurt her and force her out immediately.

She cocked her head when he suddenly broke into a charge towards a weak area of the wall, Sharena hot on his heels. He kicked it down with such a ferocious strength that she momentarily dropped her jaw. He’s human, right? What on earth kind of milk does that boy drink?

From behind him, Sharena slipped through and was on the mage before she could cast an incantation. The enemy trap was disabled now. From here on was a straightforward brawl with a trio of fliers.

They needed no further help for the rest of the battle, save for her suggesting to Anna that she keep a close eye on the hills to the east and be ready for Takumi to stick close to her, because a flier planned to circle around the hills and ambush their flank. Anna reacted about the same as Alfonse, shock and instinctive rejection of an unknown, unexpected presence in her head. Even still, she took the advice.

The battle concluded soon enough. While they finished off the last flier, the summoner scavenged a bit of food from the battlefield and quickly stuffed it in her mouth. It wasn’t much- she was still hungry, but she absolutely couldn’t risk making a mess of her robes. At least she was no longer ravenous. That would be the worst for everyone.

She rejoined the others when the sounds of battle died down, recalling Takumi into the Breidablik.

“Ah, there you are.” Anna said, as two more sets of eyes trained on her. Sharena with a smile, and Alfonse with a furrowed brow. Anna continued, “Summoner, before we discuss anything else… was that you, earlier? I saw visions of a pegasus knight circling around the eastern hills and ambushing me, and then, as if by prophecy, a pegasus knight came charging from that those hills. Alfonse said he experienced something similar, seeing a mage lurking behind the walls that he didn’t know was there.”

She nodded.

“So even if you can’t speak, you can communicate with your mind?” asked the princess with a glitter in her eyes.

She shrugged, the brevity earning an exasperated sigh from her commander. She didn’t want them to make the correct assumption that she could speak to them telepathically. Meaning she doesn’t need to rely on shared visions, phantom sensory information, and vague impressions of desires imprinted upon them to paint the picture of what she wanted to say. She could just say it. Her voice would ring out in their heads as if she were speaking directly in their ears.

But if she did that, they might stop accepting her lack of answers to the various questions they have. Sharena, at least, would become even more persistent.

Alfonse, on his part, was less than pleased. “Summoner, it was very irresponsible to do that without informing us of your power first. What would you have done if we didn’t heed your unexpected warnings?”

“I am grateful for your assistance, Summoner, but I also agree with Alfonse. If you have any other strange power, you must inform us before using them on the battlefield, otherwise you’ll just sow confusion among the ranks.”

The prince looked abashed at himself, his frown more severe but his eyes apologetic. “I stand by what I said, but I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. My apologies. It’s an impressive ability. Thank you for the tactical assistance, Summoner.”

She thought about reassuring Alfonse that he didn’t offend her when he was right anyways, but she could tell he was beginning to develop something of a distaste for her. Or maybe just distrust. Good. She didn’t want to discourage that. Instead, she did nothing, the lack of response probably coming across as a tacit dismissal of his apology. Awkward, tense air washed over the four of them.

Callous as it may be, she counted it as fortunate when a messenger hawk flew to Anna’s side bearing ill tidings. The forces in the World of Mystery were a distraction; Embla’s army marched to the border of Askr as they stood a world away. The siblings opened a portal back to their world without another word.

Of all things, she never expected the leader of the Emblian army to be a little girl.

“Scurry, scurry little Heroes… Steal for me. Spread destruction. Kill all those who stand in your way. This kingdom must fall. Once it’s gone, no one will oppose me. Every Hero, in every world- they’ll all be mine. Every last one.” 

Although she wasn’t exactly a normal little girl. 

They were still out of sight, their small party easily overlooked in the chaos. It let them slip through the fighting around them and cut to the enemies’ heart. But Alfonse couldn’t suffer the insult of her threat, and marched into open view. “We won’t allow it, Princess Veronica. And I will  _ personally _ never forget this violation of my kingdom!” His voice was calm and steady, but the summoner could sense his righteous indignation in the heat behind his typically steady gaze, in the tight grip he had around the handle of his sword. He said the word “violation” as if he were spitting retribution at the violator.

“Oh, it’s you.” Princess Veronica took note of his reveal with exceptionally dull reception before locking her eyes onto Askr’s summoner like she were an insect to pin down by the legs with her gaze alone. “Now who are you, stranger? Considering you have that absurd relic, you must be the legendary summoner. Ah well. It simply means that you must be the first to die. Xander.”

“You wish this one slain, Princess Veronica? As you wish.”

Sharena stepped in front of her, blocking her from the warrior prince’s line of sight. “Don’t worry. We’ll protect you, Summoner.” Telling herself that it only made logical sense for the Order to protect the one person that could bolster their army with the best talent from across all the words did nothing to stop her stomach from doing flip-flops. No one’s ever said anything like that to her.

Running or distancing herself from the battle would be paradoxically more dangerous than staying close. Xander was given a direct order to target her, after all. If she separated from the fighting to flee, it would only make her harder to defend if he managed to catch up on his steed. Depending on how he attacked, he might actually be able to kill her.

She squeezed the Breidablik, searching it for information and instantly getting a general read on the man’s abilities and weaknesses. From here was the challenging part, working around that information to best instruct her employers to victory. 

Luckily, surviving like a rodent when no one wanted her to was her specialty. She advised the Askr siblings to keep him busy while Anna and Takumi made swift work of the rest of the squad supporting him. Xander was keyed in on her to keep his promise, after all. Most of his attention was focused on reaching her to sever her neck from her shoulders, so he wasn’t retaliating especially hard against Sharena and Alfonse’s tag-teaming, locking the three of them in a stalemate. 

That was a roundabout way of admitting he could handle Alfonse and Sharena together without trying his hardest. She could see why he was renowned as one of the strongest in his world.

But as powerful as he was, even he couldn’t single-handedly stand up to four at once. Anna and Takumi finished off his comrades and were on him like flies, bolstering the Askran siblings. When defeated, the Emblians’ bodies remained littered on the ground, but Xander’s vanished. The summoner has not yet lost her only hero, Takumi, but she somehow already knew what would happen if he fell in battle.

Unlike Veronica’s contract, hers would remain. The magic behind Emblian contracts and the Breidablik must be fundamentally different. Takumi would vanish somewhere to recover, but she didn’t know where. The only way to break the contracts and scatter their heroes was to take her out.

With her last hero torn from her little hands, the Emblian Princess called her troops to retreat, sighing. “Left alone. Again? How dull. I’ll go console myself back home with a cup of tea.” A black vortex opened beneath her and her army’s feet, they were gone like blinking away a hallucination.

From her side, the prince shook his head. “We’ve won the battle, but resolved nothing. The empire will evade again soon enough.”

He knew that as sure as he knew the sun would rise the next day. No wonder they were in such desperate need for a summoner to work the Breidablik. Sharena growled and glared at the space where Veronica once stood, angry words being spat from her mouth like venom. The summoner didn’t pay too much attention, letting their voices wash over her like background noise.

So this was war. She’d never seen it before, not the traditional idea of war. Broken bodies were strewn about the grass like gloomy flowers. She wanted to pick them, but the others were too close, and she could feel a set of eyes on her back.

“I’m sorry you have to be dragged into this brutal war with us, Summoner.” said Alfonse, looking honestly regretful. Certainly didn’t stop them from doing it anyways, but she didn’t hold it against them.

She didn’t mind being here. Her life being threatened was nothing new, and survival may actually be easier.  
  


* * *

  
Castle Seggrheim, the home base of the Order of Heroes, was truly breathtaking. Not as tall as a skyscraper but towering above it in magnificence.

Situated behind it was an enormous lake that dwarfed even the fortress itself. An outer wall surrounded the castle almost in its entirety, each end stopping at the lake shore, forming something like a wide “U” shape. The space between the wall and the castle proper consisted of a yard with trees, shrubs, benches, and flowerbeds. 

They passed through the outer gate and followed the stone path to the truly colossal double doors of Seggrheim, one half of the Askran symbol engraved onto either door. Such an entrance was obviously to let in large visiting parties. A smaller door was to the side for individuals and small groups.

She’d only ever seen such a place in storybook illustrations and movies.

The keep was the center, surrounded by high towers extending out from it like spikes on a crown. The back exits lead into a massive courtyard, one side lined with training dummies, the other with a couple of supply sheds to set up different courses.

There were a couple facilities past the courtyard, like stables, and beyond that, the lake shore where one could fish if they pleased, but her guides, the Order trio, didn’t think they were a priority to show her.

Rather, the summoner was shown around to key places of the interior of the castle: the mess hall, the library, the barracks, the bathhouse, the training tower, the fliers’ tower, and the bedrooms of the top brass, sequestered away in its own private tower. Being the summoner meant she was the tactical heart of the order, so her room was there, just down the hall from the commander’s, while the royals basically had the entire upper floor to themselves.

She didn’t think either of them were the type to prefer such luxury, but maybe they didn’t really have a choice. This tower was in the safest position of the keep. It makes sense to protect the heirs to your kingdom.

That aside, and most importantly, they took her to the summoning tower, a long spiraling staircase that leads to an open, outdoor platform, dizzyingly high. There was a carved stone monument fitted with runes that smelled of ozone, likely to synergize with the magic of the Breidablik. 

Apparently, this is where heroes are returned when the Breidablik recalls them, and those runes are what allows it to happen. Any heroes summoned by the Breidablik remain in the castle, and can be summoned back and forth between herself and Seggrheim at will. Convenient, but guidelines would probably have to be established so that heroes left behind could be ready to fight at any time. Perhaps some kind of rotating “summoning duty” schedule could be set? She would have to think more on that later.

The castle was so incomprehensibly massive that it was clear to see she was shown only twenty percent of its interior. There was a seemingly limitless amount of corridors lined with limitless amounts of doors that could lead anywhere or to anything. It was stupid amount of space, until one remembered this was meant to be a fortress to house an unknown amount of heroes, ideally enough for an army.

After the whirlwind tour was finished, she was left in her room while the group split up to attend to different things. Anna told her she’d be back in a moment to request she complete her first Summoner duty: actually summoning. Since Seggrheim was a nigh-cosmic maze of hallways, stairways, and doorways, it was agreed that she should be escorted around for the first couple of days until she fully adjusted.

The first thing the summoner did was bolt the door to her room and make the alterations to her outfit that she would need to function on a daily basis.

First was a simple, full-face mask, blank white, that she swiped from the fliers’ tower. She personally clawed holes in the top and used pins to firmly attach the top of her hood to it. She could roll around in the grass without a care for her hood falling. Around her neck, nestled snugly in place beneath her cloak, roped a white infinity scarf, tall and chunky enough to reach above the nose of the mask. Between the scarf covering her lower face and her hood covering most of the upper, she imagined many people wouldn’t even realize there was a mask in the first place.

And beneath her mask she wore… well, no one would see it anyways.

There was a stand mirror in her room. The first look at her reflection made her jump at the unrecognizable phantom in the glass. She hadn’t seen herself in a long time, so long that she wasn’t sure what she looked like anymore. Until now. After thoroughly inspecting her guise, checking for uncovered spots at all angles and finding no uncovered inch of flesh, she tossed a bed sheet over it. Looking into it made her stomach churn.

The leading trio of the Order of Heroes bore witness to the change with varying reactions. Sharena with questions, Alfonse with narrowed eyes, and Anna with bemused blinks. 

The commander swiftly shooed the conversation forward when it was clear they wouldn’t be getting any answers and ushered them outside, to the deck upon which they summoned new heroes. Plenty of room for people ranging from human-shaped juggernauts in armor to lancers perched on winged creatures she thought she’d only see in fiction.

Up so high, the wind and sun battered her mercilessly, the flesh beneath her robes cold from the air but searing from the light. Cavalry or flying heroes, Anna urged while the summoner ignored the pain and loaded orbs into the Breidablik. They were quite pretty and small, like marbles, though perhaps “bullets” would be a more appropriate comparison. Anna described them as rare, hyper-condensed stores of mana. Pulling powerful people from other worlds, forging contracts with them, and bringing them here took a lot of magical power, after all. Trying to undergo that process without orbs would kill just about anyone. As for the summoner, she wasn’t under contract, but even just pulling her from another world apparently took orbs to ensure the ritual was a success.

Sharena vibrated in place by the entrance, badgering her brother, shaking his arm and flapping her own in the air. His indulgent smile was exhausted with her antics, but his eyes were happy. They’d been waiting for this moment for a long time, after all. This first summon was a benchmark of progress towards their dreams. 

Their summoner won’t make them wait a minute longer to taste their achievement. She took aim and fired, a single shot blasting out all five orbs at once. They chased each other in a circle at blinding speed, faster and faster, until they condensed into the center and a bright light flashed.

A man emerged from the light, wielding a tome and sitting upon a horse. The glee on Anna’s face could outshine the sun itself. “I am Reinhardt of Friege. Allow me to unleash havoc on your enemies with my thunder magic.” He bowed in the summoner’s direction. Interesting how he automatically knew who was the contract holder. “May I know the name of the one who summoned me?”

“The summoner can’t speak.” Anna cut in on her behalf.

She never explicitly said that, but it was close enough to the truth. She can’t because she won’t.

Sharena, who was chomping at the bit to sink her teeth into the poor mage, couldn’t contain herself for a second longer. She was all over him like ants on sugar, while Alfonse tried to hold back the tidal wave known as “Princess Sharena making friends.”

Anna shook her head fondly. “We’ve got more orbs, Summoner. Let’s use ‘em. We’ve already got the resources to house and provide for more heroes, so no reason to hold back.”

Bang. Flash.

And so she did. Summon by summon, the modest pile of orbs slowly whittled down to nothing. 

The platform they stood on had more than enough room to hold the increasing number of heroes milling about, awaiting introductions. Occasionally a solidly-colored orb emerged from the light instead of a hero. She cocked her head to the side and picked it up. It was uncomfortably warm, but not hot enough to burn, and pulsated almost like a heartbeat.

“What’s that?” asked a baffled Anna the first time an orb, a shiny ruby one, laid at the altar instead of a person.   
  
“I believe I know. That’s a skill orb.” Alfonse answered, inquisitive eyes locked onto the little bauble in her hand. “They’re what you get when a summon goes incomplete for whatever reason. Instead of the hero themselves, you get a mana store of their knowledge and experience, typically in the form of a single technique. They can then be bequeathed unto anybody that meets compatibility standards.”   
  
She inexplicably knew, which means the Breidablik had crammed it into her head, that the bequeathing process would be to load the skill orb into the relic, point it at a hero, and fire. The process would not hurt them. She pocketed it while Anna and Sharena expressed their amazement.

After a number of summons, She found her arm grew heavier. Even with orbs, contracting heroes still took energy, each one chipping away at her ability to stand and hold the Breidablik steady. The exhaustion sapped her strength in more ways than one, made her feel both her pain more acutely, and her temptations.

Worse than the exhaustion, worse than the pain, were the smells. Heady, intoxicating aromas of all varieties, each as appealing as the last, tightly condensed and swirling around her, flirting with her senses. Her vision swam, her throat constricted, her lips dribbled endlessly like a pathetic dog’s, but thanks to her mask she didn’t have to call attention to it by wiping it away.

Doesn’t matter. None of it does. She has a job to do. So she bit her lip and kept firing anyways, again and again. With every pull of the trigger her body burned fiercer, the sting of invisible tears in her too-tight skin screamed louder, her lips quivered further. 

With the last orb spent, the commander swiftly moved in to take over the reins of introducing the crowd of new members to their mission, and the quirks of working with the summoner herself.

They had no more need of her now, and she was eager to get out of here. Sharena was buzzing about the heroes, while Anna was busy showing them the ropes. Only Alfonse remained by the door, his smile polite and reserved, distant in every sense of the word.

If Sharena was the little bumblebee who gleefully twirled her way about the flowers, Alfonse was the cloud who drifted above their heads, unwilling by nature to touch down to the ground but determined to watch over everyone. So she turned on her heel, slow and deliberate as to not fall, not to the ground but the pits of depravity, and reached for the cloud in hopes it could keep her afloat, tugging on his sleeve.

Narrow eyes, a frown, a pinched brow, seems no matter what mood Alfonse was in he’d always have a careful look of restrained disapproval ready for her. “What is it, Summoner?” His tone was very even, careful. Disapproving but still so well-mannered… She likes that, going by the little tickle inside; he dislikes her yet can’t bring himself to be mean to her.

She showed him an image of the library as a telepathic request for an escort, eager to relieve the burning ache in her skin by curling up like a statue for the next few hours. Books were all she had where she came from anyways. Her status as a newcomer to this world at least gave her a good excuse to hole up all day and brush up on her knowledge of the various discovered worlds and their most prominent heroes, even Zenith itself. On the side, she could look into other things for her own purposes. There might be clues here to achieving what once felt like an impossible dream.

Alfonse glanced back at the crowd, taking in the smiles, the greetings, the camaraderie already forming around his sister and the friendlier heroes. “Very well.” Something about the way the tense line of his shoulders loosened up made her think he was just as relieved as her to make his escape. As if he preferred dealing with someone he didn’t trust over spending time in the joy Sharena happily enveloped himself in like a warm blanket.

He was hard to pin down. The quiet prince didn’t seem to dislike anyone but her and had impeccable manners one would expect of royalty, but he still didn’t want to be around people all that much.

They walked to the library in silence that felt comfortable to her, although she wasn’t sure about her escort; he was still frowning. Ironically, he was the perfect company for her. She’d been alone for so long that the mere presence of another was a pleasure, yet someone as bright and friendly as Sharena worried her. The princess was prone to unintentionally getting too close to the fire.

“Do you plan to stay a while, Summoner?” asked Alfonse, hovering by the door while she browsed along the shelves. She nodded. “Will you be fine if you’re left until dinner?” 

It would be a bad idea for her to go to a place packed with people like the mess hall. She shook her head and reached out with her power.

She hadn’t used it on him since the first time, in the battle against the mage and the three fliers, so the way he went rigid as the armor on his body was to be expected. His mental shields came up reflexively, so fast and strong that his guarded nature was a marvel. She imagined anyone would feel safe behind him. But she had no way to break through it. Her power required consent, otherwise she was easily forced out.

The conversation was necessary, though, otherwise she would be happy to give him the space he clearly wanted. So she remained just on the outside of his mental perception, inviting him to open up with an invisible hand brushing against his shell.

She stared. And waited. For a long enough time that she could see Alfonse’s calm and steady gaze begin to falter. He was patient and composed and could probably wait out paint drying if it was necessary, but he was no match against someone who only knew silence.

Alfonse closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. “Alright, summoner. What is it?”

With his barrier let down enough, she quickly informed him that she wasn’t hungry and wouldn’t be going to dinner. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Even if you had a meal just before coming here, it’ll be a full day by the time dinner is served. You need to eat. The Order needs you to keep up your strength.” he shot her down the second he understood her abstract string of mental images, completely unaware that he’d just stated the problem.

Well aware she came across as unreasonable, she once again insisted she would not go to the mess hall. He could bring something, if he wanted, but she did not want to leave the library. 

No matter what, she refused to put anyone in danger. And since he didn’t like her, it’s not like he’d bother to go out of his way like that.

“Don’t be selfish.” he chastised, and when was the last time someone was there to scold her? She felt her face heat up, and her shoulders hunch with reflexive shame at his tone, despite what she knew was necessary. Her heart hammered in her chest and a lump formed in her throat. Those two, she didn’t understand. “There’s nothing wrong with the mess hall.”

She couldn’t debate him even if she wanted to, because no matter how one looked at it, without the full, terrible truth, there was no rationality behind her behavior. So she severed the mental link, turned around, and busied herself with the bookshelves. 

With her back turned she couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the exasperated noise huffed from the back of his throat, a wordless representation of  _ ‘Ugh _ .’ 

“Truly, summoner? There are limits to how stubborn someone can be, and over something so  _ trivial- _ ” His voice steadily climbed to higher notes of frustration and restrained irritation before he caught himself, reining everything back into his tight, controlled countenance with a deep breath, as if to suck the words back down. “Never mind. I’ll leave you for now. I’ll come back for you, so please don’t wander on your own. It would be bad if you got lost.” He said with the tired bitterness of a man giving up after trying and failing to get his child to eat their vegetables.

And as terrible as she was to exasperate him so, she couldn’t stop the selfish tickle inside.

Of course, he’s promising to come back for their summoner, not for her. It’s for the mission, not her. But the knowledge that he might keep his promise, that she could rely on someone for something even this trivial, right after making him mad was… she didn’t have the words to explain it. Somewhere inside was tickled again. It’s not that she wanted to rely on people, it’s that she could even trust in the… in the stability? It was there, as sure as the sun promised to rise and set and never failed to keep it. What is this? What are the words for it?

She didn’t know. How could she? She just put on a mask, a new face, and was experiencing a world not meant for the likes of her. A diseased stray that snuck in with the pedigrees, and was enjoying all the fine things it didn’t deserve. Sourness filled her mouth, but she still, secretly had the greed to look forward to seeing him come back, if only for the addictive, ticklish feeling his return would bring.


	2. Home is Where the Heart is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a great response for the first chapter! Better than I expected for a fandom that doesn't seem as active at this current date. Thanks to all who left their impressions and reviews.

As much as she wanted to immediately dive headfirst into her personal research, the summoner knew the more responsible thing to do was brush up on Zenithic history, focusing especially on Askr and Embla. She felt earlier that she didn’t need to know, but being here, seeing everything, and being given a _room_ , it made her feel obligated to learn now. No, not obligated, but she wasn’t sure how else to define such an irresistible pull from within. She just... wanted to. What a feeling. 

The fantastical runes of this world, more like art than language in her eyes, line the shelves around her. History, biographies, almanacs, atlases, research journals from all kinds of different fields of study, there was an endless ocean of knowledge all around her, the likes of which she could never have imagined ever experiencing.

And despite all that, the book her hand stopped at was a collection of local tales and legends she thought she might enjoy. 

Enjoy?

As in, having fun?

At once, the book in her hand grew almost as heavy as her heart and her bones radiated a chill that gave her goosebumps, even under all her layers. She wasn’t sure why she wanted something, yet couldn’t fully enjoy the thought of taking it. Maybe it was just her common sense coming to remind her of reality. Don’t get too comfortable, don’t relax, don’t forget the truth.

Among the books were empty journals, quills, and ink for scholars to make notes. As soon as she saw them she knew she could use one for her own purposes, but it would have to wait for later, when she'd had a bit of penmanship practice. It’d been so long since she had anything to write with she needed to make sure she even remembered how, let alone if she had handwriting decent enough to be legible.

With a quiet sigh that did little to clear out the heavy air in her lungs, she put the collection of whimsy away and focused on picking actual learning material. Over time, the books piled up at the table, a sizable mountain of research to slowly work her way through. To their left were notes she’d been writing to copy down key information, simultaneously studying better and practicing writing. As expected, it looked atrocious. Even if she had the luxury of familiar writing tools, she was so out of practice that she seemed incapable of writing her letters in a consistent size, evenly, or without a squiggly, sloppy shake in the lines. Plus, the quills were awkward to handle and she smudged ink everywhere. All of it was written in English. The exotic-looking Zenithic runes can come later, when her hand is a bit steadier.

Reading Zenithic was just as slow and difficult as writing in English. She didn’t really comprehend what she was reading. Sometimes, especially with long sentences, she would forget how the sentence started by the time she finally tripped her way to the end. Read one-by-one, the words were just an endless, disjointed stream that never formed any coherent meaning.

A bulk of information may have been crammed into her head at once thanks to a magical ritual, but there really was no shortcut to fixing illiteracy. Kind of like the Skill Orbs. She could grant a hero knowledge, but their body still needed practice to do it right.

More than once, she had to tell herself it was only the first day when the familiar burn of frustration stung her eyes. She needed to learn to walk before she could run, and she had all the knowledge to do it. All she needed to do was train her brain to get used to using it. Because, the discouraging moments aside, it felt exhilarating to do this kind of thing again. It’s amusing in a way that made her heart squeeze to remember how much she hated school all those years ago. Not so long ago, deep in the cold winter guts of a city underbelly, sitting at a desk with a book, a pen and paper, and knowledge to chase could’ve only been a dream.

The practice sheets piled up until, true to his word, Alfonse eventually came back for her at dinnertime. She sensed his approach, heard his footsteps and smelled his scent, along with other muddled aromas she could guess was supposed to be food for her. She looked up to the door when he neared, ignoring the pleasantly squeamish feeling of a mob of butterflies going nuts in her stomach. He seemed surprised to walk in and see her already attentive, waiting for him like a dog attended the front door.

He was staring, but not at her. She followed his line of sight, to the desk, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. By the time she looked back at him, he’d stopped and was bringing the plate to a clear spot on the table. It was a slice of some kind of savory pie with roasted vegetables on the side.

“Here summoner. Please eat.” Considering his full-body tension when he left, he was remarkably relaxed right now. Maybe something good happened while he was gone.

She ducked her head low and slow as a gesture of thanks, then resumed her work, quill scratching clumsy lines into parchment like chicken feet. A sigh was the only warning she got before the quill was swiftly plucked from her hand.

“No. Food first, before it gets cold.” With one hand on his hip and his tone firm as the stone beneath her feet, she felt scolded by his demeanor alone.

It would just be wasted on her anyways. Food was too valuable to throw away to her, especially since she couldn’t even taste it. Actually, it was physically impossible for her to eat anyways, with all the stuff she was wearing. Maybe he would leave if she ignored him? It’s not like he would force-feed her, so...

Except when she reached for the stack of books to pick up anything to look busy with, a hand came out of nowhere and forced it back down with a decisive, unyielding shove. 

There was no winning this.

Eating with her mask on would be impossible, so she took the plate and dragged her feet to a far corner of the room. “Where are you going?” She ignored him and crouched down, still facing the corner, and nudged her mask to the side. After a minute of shuffling everything around, she was able to free her mouth enough to slip food through the corners. She gingerly picked up a piece of an orange vegetable between two fingers, carrot, she remembered, and put it in her mouth. As expected, it tasted of nothing.

“Er- you don’t want a fork?”

No. She just wanted to get this over with. Truth be told, she didn’t even notice any utensils around. Maybe because it’d been so long since she had one, she just didn’t notice them when she saw them. Sort of like not recognizing an old friend until they’ve reintroduced themselves.

Not like it mattered. Eating like a beast suited her more than holding a knife and fork and pretending to be a decent human. Bite after bite, she mechanically pushed pieces of this and that through her lips, feeling like she was watching someone else do it, holding back bile that had nothing to do with the food itself.

While she did so, Alfonse couldn’t contain his curiosity, going by the sound of papers rustling. She focused on that instead of whatever her body was doing. “I’ve never seen script like this before. Is this from your world?”

So he doesn’t even recognize it? Then her world must be totally unknown to them. In many ways, it was a relief.

Another quiet sigh when his question went unanswered. More rustling, this time with the heavier sounds of hardcover books being picked up and set down. “Are you interested in our history, Summoner?” This time, it didn’t sound like a question.

Footsteps, Alfonse walking around the library, not towards her, and not towards the door. So towards the shelves, then. “I have a recommendation. Most of your selections are a bird’s-eye overview, but this goes into more intimate detail of a few important events. I find history is more interesting when you can put everything into context.” he said, followed by the soft thump of a book being set down on her work table. So far, he’d consistently come across as the more knowledgeable one between him and Sharena, going by the way he seemingly always had an answer ready for his sister’s questions. It made sense he was well read. Probably from studying in preparation of being a king one day.

Speaking of that, she was curious to know who the current ruler was. They had to still be alive, considering the prince was still a prince.

The brief curiosity did little to distract her from the fact that her belly felt just as empty as it did one plate of food ago. She hated every moment of it. It shoved into her face every awful thing about herself, reminded her she could eat a feast of an entire savory pie and roasted vegetables for every meal and still starve to death. It’s not like she ever forgot, so why did she have to experience a reminder that intimate, where it could cut deeper than usual?

But it was done, and she was the last thing in all the worlds that had the right to resent someone like Alfonse for anything, let alone his good intentions, so she stood up from her crouch and gave the plate back to him. He took it with a look she couldn’t decipher. But instead of leaving her, he pursed his lips. A long silence followed, and she wasn’t sure if he was glaring again or just thinking. “Summoner, I can see that you’re working hard. I appreciate it. But you need to take care of yourself as well.” he quickly cleared his throat. “Again, the Order needs its summoner.”

The words were so foreign that she felt her brain temporarily halt, as if her ability to comprehend Zenithic was temporarily lost.

Take care of herself? 

Of course, that meant she should do what she can to not die. It was understandable that Alfonse didn’t know what the summoner taking care of herself looked like. All she needed was a meal now and again, less frequently than someone like him did.

“Do you know your way back to your room?”

A nod wouldn’t be convincing. She should probably provide proof, which required her power. Although he hesitated again, it didn’t take another staring match to get him to let her in. She showed him a mental path from the library to her room as evidence. 

The way he rubbed his eyes made her worry if being given phantom sensory information was more disorienting than she thought. It couldn’t be helped during battle, but whenever possible, maybe she should avoid doing it outside of that context. “You’re a fast learner. Alright then. I’ll take my leave. Have a good evening.”

When he was gone, she pushed aside what she was reading and picked up the blue book he left for her, ignoring the strange jitters in her limbs. She already wanted to get used to reading again, but here was some extra motivation. 

It was only because he didn’t know- if he knew, and if he was half as smart as she believed he was, he’d be giving her an execution instead of reading material-

But still, and yet, someone gave her something. There was no other book she wanted to read more.

* * *

The summoner didn’t go to bed that night. There was no point. After so long of sleeping on cold, hard, stone, a bed would be an alien nest. The library was comfortable enough.

Darkness around her was the first clue that she had fallen asleep at some point. The second was the sound of footsteps and scents that didn’t smell like her boss or her failsafe. At once, she was wide awake, concluding before she could even rub the sleep out of her eyes that the more academic heroes became interested in the library. She hid before she could think of anything else, hands moving independently from the rest of her body to swipe up the book Alfonse recommended. 

Unfortunately, there was no time to hide her materials. 

The doors opened, and she remembered the scents before the names that matched them. In one, lavender and fresh laundry, gentle and clean, in the other, honeydew underpinned by ozone. Roy and Ewan. The latter was chattering excitedly about magical theory that neither she nor Roy understood, going by his polite but unenthused, one-word responses.

“Whoa, what’s all this?” said an excited, boyish voice from the direction of honeydew and ozone. By the sounds of it Ewan was looking through her stack of books. “Looks like someone’s been working in here! There’s a lot of history books.”

Papers shuffling. “I’ve never seen a language like this.” said a very curious Roy, most likely referring to her notes.

“Oh, that’s _fascinating!_ ”

She wanted to slap herself for forgetting to at least clean those papers up, but her first instinct was to grab Alfonse’s book.

There was no turning things back. She curled up in her hiding place and waited until they were finally gone.

Staying here wasn’t an option, when heroes could walk in at any time. It’s not that she disliked them, but the less time they spent around her the safer they were. They shouldn’t get too comfortable in her presence.

She knew of parts of the castle that went completely unused, due to a combination of Seggrheim’s size and the current sparsity of their army and staff. Finding a good, private room while avoiding coming across other people was easy thanks to her senses.

The sun had come up by now, going by how heavy her limbs felt, so carrying the books back from the library took multiple trips. The place she picked was a random storage room, drafty, dark, and dusty, but perfectly sequestered away at the end of a turning, twisting path of hallways. The candles were unlit, unenchanted because this area went unused, and as it was deep inside the castle, there were no windows. The door itself was hidden by the lack of light, easily overlooked by the eyes. She shivered in the cool air, but it was perfect.

Tracking time was impossible in this room, but not for the lack in her senses; she could feel the sun grow stronger as the afternoon approached, even through the layers upon layers of walls and ceilings around her. Tracking time was impossible because, in the void-like absence of others, there was nothing to pull her attention away from her work.

Which was an issue, because she hadn’t realized a full day had passed until a voice began to trickle into her ears.

She shut her eyes and focused until she found the source, the smoky-spicy-sweet scent reaching her nose identifying the person to be Alfonse even before she recognized his voice. The distance meant she had to concentrate a little more, but she reached out to him, touching briefly at the edges of his mind. “Summoner!” He shouted, recognizing the sensation of her presence. There was an edge to his voice she couldn’t identify, something sharp and brittle all at once. “Where are you? Where have you been? It’s suppertime and no one’s seen you at breakfast or lunch.” She wondered if he assumed she was able to hear him through their connection, or able to physically hear him from where she was.

“I recall telling you to take care of yourself.” He continued to scold her. “Where are you then? If you still refuse to come to the dining hall, I’ll bring you something.”

She told him to call her for her if there is an emergency, and cut the link to send the message that she was done with the conversation.

“Summoner!” Alfonse wasn’t, going by his exasperated rebuke, the pitch in his voice just a hair up, slightly incredulous. She could hear his footsteps here and there, louder and quieter, around the general area of her hiding spot; he was definitely looking around for her.

But he never found her, because the room she picked was perfect.

* * *

Time was difficult to track, but she initially counted the days by Alfonse’s calls for her. He never found her, despite his attempts, and resigned himself to checking in on her to make sure she was still alive, walking to the general area he figured she was in and calling for her, awaiting the feeling of her presence as an answer to his calls. After several days of this, he acknowledged her never coming down at mealtime, yet being perfectly alert and responsive to his summons, had to mean she was merely eating on her own time, most likely directly from the kitchens. “So long as you’re at least eating properly, I’ll leave you be. But do make sure to rest from time to time.” he said with resignation. “Someone will alert you if there’s an emergency.”

Without the routine of Alfonse’s attempts at contact to keep track of time, the days really did fly by, interrupted only by calls to missions.

Between said missions, the summoner spent the majority of her time holed up in the storage room she’d taken as her private study, hidden away in the dusty, unoccupied bowels of Seggrheim. By now a sizable mountain of books, pilfered from the library, and piles of notes written in her native language had been stacked into veritable mountains. Tucked into the corner was a mound of blankets for her to burrow into and get comfortable in, all found in the various storage containers stacked about. These drafty, remote sections of the castle tended to be a bit too cool for her, but with the blankets, the place she carved out was so cozy and safe that she opted to sleep here instead of her room. She was more used to floors than beds, and it was more convenient anyways. A perfect cycle of uninterrupted work, falling asleep at her desk, hand over quill, or in her blankets, hand poised to turn the page, waking up still clutching her quill, still ready to turn the page, and getting right back to it.

But isolated as she was, that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep track of what was going on in the castle. The absolute silence of her surroundings meant she could tap into the full potential of her hearing, and with that, keep tabs on the Order, in case they needed their summoner.

Merely yanking heroes from their worlds and forging contracts with them were not her only duties, after all. Her unique ability to bestow power unto others, as well as her position as the contract holder, meant that, in many ways, the coordination between the heroes and the Order depended on her.

Her hearing was sharp on its baseline, yes, but catching idle conversation halfway across the castle and beyond required more concerted effort.

She strained her hearing and caught the footsteps of nearby servants walking about, strained harder until she caught the murmured conversations of the heroes currently in the library, and strained further still, because she could go further, if she shut other things out.

Her sight- it distracted her from the hushed tones of the fliers’ tower tickling her ears, the scents of paper and ink- they distracted her from the cling-and-clang of armor and weapons and the cries of battle in the training tower. Even her own breathing, it was like a windstorm rattling the walls and doors loudly enough to drown out the television. So she cut them off, refining the edges of her hearing like a blade sharp enough to render stone. She saw nothing, she smelled nothing, held her breath, and in exchange, she heard just shy of everything. The furthest edges of the castle: the entrance and the lake and the very highest towers that were the royal quarters, those were beyond her reach. But everything that fell inside was within her grasp.

Like this, she could hear Forsyth discussing knighthood with Frederick, could hear Maribelle and Clarine evaluate the decorum of their fellow heroes and Segghreim’s interior decoration, could hear Roy’s haggard breathing as he finished the last round of his sparring matches with Mathilda. She had a difficult time picturing their faces. Considering she rarely left her study-and-hiding hole, she remembered the heroes by matching their names with their voices and scents.

It would be impossible to achieve this level of acute hearing anywhere but this room, which she could be certain would remain utterly silent. Someone whispering in here would be amplified into a scream in a megaphone. Even her own heartbeat would burst her eardrums. If she had one.

She also heard some things from the servants and Askran patrol guards that she didn’t know how to decipher. They spoke of Alfonse and Sharena in low, hushed voices, tones ranging from ice to venom. It seems the kindest the guards could muster was quiet disapproval. They criticized everything that could be criticized, to the point that one servant’s complaints could contradict another’s. Very little was found sufficient about the royal siblings, from their combat prowess, to their military knowhow, and to their character. The staff were particularly harsh on the prince. One maid said he was standoffish and condescending, while a guard said he was a reckless whelp who never could’ve gotten his current position without the clout of his title.

It bothered her to hear such things about them, to the point she got a sour taste in her mouth, even as she told herself it was none of her business. The rift between the royals and the staff did not concern her if it was not part of her job. She couldn’t even begin to think of a solution when she hardly understood the problem as to why and how the siblings garnered such a negative impression, and even if she could, it was beyond her capabilities to fix anything. Besides, what could she say? It’s not like she truly knew either of them, not as well as their actual subjects, who’ve lived in this world for much longer than a couple weeks. She had her own impressions, but who would trust her judgment when it would be so clearly biased in favor of the people who’ve given her a roof over her head?

So she learned to filter the servants and soldiers out, to ignore their voices, even as they washed around her, as fuzzy background noise.

Her life here was… comfortable. Well and truly comfortable. Waking up meant that there was something there for her to wake up to. As in, every day, she woke up and there was a task to finish. What else could she ask for?

Of course things weren’t perfect. The ever-present burn in her stomach had been made worse by her lack of success in scavenging enough food while avoiding eyes. It had built into a furious, gnawing agony. It followed her everywhere, in the day, in the night, in her sleep, as persistent as her own shadow. This state was called “ravenous.” She could certainly eat from the mess hall, but it wouldn’t help and would just be a waste of valuable resources. There was nothing here that could quell it, nothing she would dare to even think of eating.

At this point, holding herself up straight at her desk became a luxury, an extra expenditure of energy she didn’t want to waste. Now, she mostly huddled into the blankets on the floor and tried not to move too much. A mountain of books to her left and a mountain of papers to her right formed a valley of study and tactical planning all around her, conveniently in arms reach so she didn’t have to get up for anything. 

She’s grown tired, weaker. Everything seemed to take so much energy to do. But she wasn’t at the point where she couldn’t ignore her hunger. The cold hadn’t set into her bones. So long as her very core wasn’t chilled, well, no one was ever safe, but no one was in _immediate_ danger. And if push came to shove, if it came down to the wire...

Stomach roiling, she glanced at her writing hand, mindlessly drawing loops into her book. She had taken to keeping something of a journal, written in English for extra security. It’d been years since she had anything to write on, or anything to write, frankly. Her handwriting was terrible, but it felt good to have it. This dream could end at any moment, so she wanted something to remember everything, as proof that this bright chapter in her life really existed.

That said, it wasn’t a diary so much as a log of factual information and events. She wrote down the things that happened, but very little of how she felt or what she thought about them. For example, Alfonse’s entry went something like:

 _Alfonse: Crown prince of Askr. Blue-haired with gold tips (seems natural) + blue eyes. Serious, earnest, good guy. Smart. Sword/shield user. Scent is campfire, polishing oil, + faint apple. The_ ~~_pre_~~ _best smile. Kinda rare + never directed at me bc most suspicious of me. Good._

Well, perhaps there was the occasional personal feeling sprinkled in here and there.

_Sharena: Crown princess of Askr. Younger than Alfonse. Blonde with pink-y tips (seems natural) + green eyes. ? different mom/dad? Bubbly and friendly. Infantry lancer. Scent is sweet citrus, like vanilla + apples. Still tries to friend me. Why?_

_Anna: Commander of the Order of Heroes. Professional + focused. Likes $? Everyone does but she REALLY likes $. Infantry axe. Scent is cinnamon. Summoned me._

As time went by and she picked up more tidbits of information about the other heroes, whether through study or eavesdropping, she slowly tacked on more information under their entries. Aside from information on the different people contracted to her, she wrote down daily entries summarizing her day, including the first:

_Day 1. Spring in Zenith. Summoned to a new world called Zenith. Probably not a dream. No name anymore. I go by “Summoner” here. Thing I use is called “Breidablik” + looks like a gun. Shoots heroes and gives me info about them. Long story, too lazy to write it all. I summon heroes for good (probably) army that fights bad army. They let me help direct battles._

“...-er… !” She strained her ears at the ghost of words brushing against her senses.

“Su-... -moner…! Summoner!” her advanced hearing parsed together the distant sounds of Alfonse calling for her, echoing down the cavernous halls of this vacant area of the castle. Anna and Alfonse didn’t appreciate her habit of disappearing into the castle and never returning unless directly called for, but repeated failed attempts to find where she went and her adamant refusal to answer any questions about it meant they had no choice but to just accept it. Very, very begrudgingly.

Rising to her feet required a helping, stabilizing hand on a nearby table. She swayed on her feet for a moment while the room spun, sucking in deep breaths through her nose until her vision stopped swimming.

Getting up was unpleasant when she was so tired, but she did it anyway, because she had a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave your thoughts and impressions, if you please. They help me gauge the failures and successes of my writing.
> 
> This chapter was posted at like......................... 8AM. I didn't sleep last night. My vision is swimming and my brain is kind of loopy right now so I imagine I'll be waking up full of regrets as if I had drunken sex but I didn't get the benefit of drunk or sex.


End file.
